


Standing on a one-end bridge

by thatonegreenpencil



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Boys Kissing, Developing Relationship, Dorks, Fluff, M/M, Meaningful conversations, Therapy Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonegreenpencil/pseuds/thatonegreenpencil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, it's Abe who's thinking too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing on a one-end bridge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onecentpipit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onecentpipit/gifts).



> Hello~ This is, admittedly, my first time writing for Oofuri, but the dynamic between these two is just so lovely I couldn't resist when I saw your request~ Though, I prefer talking to actual physical stuff, so there'll be a lot of that in here, and not much of the more intimate things you requested, sorry! 
> 
> I noticed you said that consent is very important, so I tried to add that in here. Relationship and character development is very important to me as well, so I tried to add that in there too... It's not a very long fic, I admit, and I apologize! I still hope it's to your liking.
> 
> And with that, hope you (and anyone else who's reading) enjoy~

It’s hard to say what their relationship is, exactly. Abe knows it’s not the jumbled mess it used to be, complete with communication gaps and all the complications that came along with it. Abe also knows it’s not just a mere pitcher-catcher battery or even a normal friendship. It’s a lot more, but at the same time a lot less because Mihashi still has his moments of doubt and anxiety which Abe’s learned to coax away with soft words and even softer kisses.

The kissing part _definitely_ isn’t part of a normal friendship.

But it’s not as if they’re boyfriends or anything, going out on cute little dates with hands clasped (though, Abe admits, he wouldn’t mind that), but he likes to be there for Mihashi. The kisses don’t seem to mean much, either, they’re like a form of therapy rather than a proclamation of love. It’s hard to say that they even have love in the first place.

He spends a lot more time thinking about the whole kissing thing than he should.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” he says one day. It's not the best time to bring up his insecurities about all this, seeing as how they're in the middle of having what can be only described as a 'lip-wrestling session'. Not very poetic, but then again, neither of them have much experience with this except the few times they've kissed so far, so the whole affair is far from flying sparks and more like awkward fumbles.

Usually it doesn't matter, but today, every slip-up is sticking into his side like thorns.

Mihashi hefts himself up from his sprawled position on the bed, still slightly out of breath and face beet red, but it’s hard to miss the glimmer of panic in his eyes.

Abe gets up too, looking away towards the window and crossing his arms tightly around himself and feeling horrible, because he hates it when Mihashi looks hurt. But he keeps going, _for his sake_ , he thinks.

“We haven’t even figured anything out. I know I just started it one day without any warning, we’re not thinking ahead enough.”

_For his sake,_ because Abe remembers those first weeks of practice with Mihashi. How he had practically forced his whole regime onto the pitcher that would become _his_ pitcher, and how Mihashi would never meet his eyes some days and how he never wants to see flashes of terror like that on Mihashi’s face ever again. Abe’s far from perfect now, but looking back on those days, he feels like he’s left something truly disgusting behind.

“Abe-kun..?” Mihashi sounds so lost, so scared, and a heavy ball of regret lumps up in his throat. But it’s better for the long run. Abe’s sure of it. It's better that they stop and think, because that's what Abe's always done in baseball, and it's never failed him before.

He grabs his bag from where it’s been tossed carelessly onto the ground and looks at the time. “It’s getting late anyway,” he says. Which is stupid, because both of them know the time had never mattered before this.

He waits for Mihashi to call him out on it, waits so hard that his fingernails leave small divots in his skin. But of course, Mihashi doesn’t say anything. “O-okay, Abe-kun, good ni-”

“Yeah, yeah, good night,” Abe calls, kicking his feet into his shoes and quickly walking out the door. Good. The atmosphere was suffocating anyways.

The crisp night air does him some good, effectively unraveling the sinking feeling in his stomach before the cicadas get even three chirps in. The wind brushes past his sensitive and still-slightly-puffed lips, and he touches a finger to the pink skin, pondering.

It’s not unpleasant, kissing Mihashi. The sounds Mihashi makes are nothing short of, well, adorable, and though neither of them have much experience, it ends up being okay most of the time. It’s easier than words at least, and easier to control too, since Abe finds that restraining the desire to touch is easier than lowering his voice on days when Mihashi is being particularly skittish.

But the problem with kissing is that it’s _physical._ One of the reasons Abe still prefers baseball to kissing is that there’s a wide distance between him and Mihashi on the field, no matter how close that bond may be internally. And there’s so many emotions tangled up with the idea of love (he still doesn’t know if that’s what they have) that it becomes confusing to manage over time. Abe had meant kissing to be a way for Mihashi to calm down, like the hand holding thing. A stupid idea that had popped into his head one day and made itself reality.

That’s all it was, a stupid idea. However, there’s no denying that since the kissing’s started, Mihashi is happier and more carefree in a lot of ways. He doesn’t fret about being perfect and doesn’t linger on slight mistakes as much as he did before. But has Mihashi thought about the long-term conditions of this..?

Abe rubs at his temples, tightening his grip on the bike handle. There’s so much pros and cons and I-don’t-knows floating all over the place that it’s hurting his brain. Luckily, he resists the urge to unleash his frustration on the nearest fluffy object until he gets home.

He’s both lucky and unlucky that it happens to be a Saturday the next morning. Lucky, since he doesn’t have to see Mihashi. Unlucky because he doesn’t have an excuse to see Mihashi.

His parents and brother are out for the day, going to some family festival nearby and leaving Abe free to wade in his thoughts. He flips through channels disinterestedly on the couch for most of the morning, glancing at his phone every now and again. Well, more than that, maybe.

His fingers itch to text, but it’s unlikely Mihashi will answer. He never does when he’s in his ‘scared-of-Abe’ mode. A bitter taste floods into his mouth, remembering that he was the one who _caused_ Mihashi to become scared of him in the first place. So he doesn’t have a right to complain.

Around eleven, his phone buzzes. Abe doesn’t jump up like an excited puppy as one might think he would, but he does trip on the remote lying on the ground in his haste to get to the phone placed two feet away. Mihashi never texts first.

_Can I come over?_ _-Mihashi_

It’s hard to decide whether to laugh or cry.

He settles on typing out a quick ‘ _yeah_ ’ and sitting in the doorway for far too long while counting the seconds to pass the time and running through thousands of scenarios of ‘what-will-happen’s. He should try to look at his like a baseball game, he really should, but it’s hard to when everything's an erratic mess. Too much so for any sort of logical reasoning. Number one rule of baseball: don’t let things get to your head.

Abe breaths in, and breathes out. The doorbell rings.

“Come in,” he says nonchalantly to the pitcher hovering outside the door. “I have ramen, if you haven’t had lunch yet.”

When Mihashi’s only response is a head nod, a twinge of the old annoyance sparks up at the lack of communication and Abe has the nerve to think _‘Well, back to square one,’_ before remembering he’s the one that put them there.

An awkward silence smogs the air as they wait for the water to boil. Not exactly uncommon for them, but uncommon for them _lately_. Abe doesn’t risk stealing glances, however, and keeps trying to fool himself that bubbling water is _fascinating._ He guesses Mihashi is doing the same.

They take the ramen into Abe’s room at his insistence. He’s secretly hoping the tension will break itself with a change of scenery, but their meal is still covered by the stifling silence, broken occasionally by the light clicking of chopsticks. It's even worse in this enclosed space that Abe's forced themselves in. At least the kitchen didn't make him claustrophobic. He wants to slap himself.

“T-thanks for the food,” Mihashi had stuttered. Abe now watches him slurp up each noodle carefully as if they’re made out of glass, pausing to blow away the heat every now and again. He notices Mihashi's face is slightly bloated, and there are small sags under his eyes.

Abe tucks away the urge to start lecturing him about the importance of a good sleep schedule, which is an amazing feat in itself. Instead, he leans towards the other boy slightly, and in the calmest tone he can manage, asks, “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Mihashi starts and almost spills the bowl of ramen. “F-fine!” he stammers, quickly steadying the bowl but dropping his chopsticks in the process. When Abe moves to get them, Mihashi jumps up, saying, “I-It’s fine, I-I was d-done anyway…”

He’s visibly shaking at this point.

Abe stops his hand from reaching out to the boy, not wanting him to be frightened (or even worse; flinch back). Abe's starting to get a little freaked too, but he does his best to use the same calm tone from before when he speaks again. “Is something wrong?”

Mihashi pauses, hand midway to the fallen chopsticks. Abe waits patiently as the other straightens up again and fidgets in his seat for a few moments. His fingers are curled tightly into fists, sinking into the folds of his shirt, and his breathing is rapid and shallow.

“A-Abe-kun… A-are you…” And then it fades away into nothing more than a small whisper. Mihashi’s staring at the ground, trembling. The sight digs its nails directly into Abe’s chest, gripping, strangling.

He breathes slowly- in, out- and then moves to take Mihashi’s hand. The pitcher flinches, but he doesn’t flinch _away._ If anything, he shuffles closer just a hair. He wants to laugh, but he can't, because Mihashi’s fingers are freezing.

But Abe feels some of the tension seep out from where his hand is wrapped around Mihashi’s, which is better than nothing. He keeps silent, however, because he’s learned that timing may be the difference between a happy Mihashi and a silent Mihashi. So he waits some more.

Finally,

“Are you… mad at me, Abe-kun?”

Mihashi exhales shakily, his whole form slumping as if whatever had been keeping him so rigid had finally loosened its claws. Abe, however, feels his stomach twist beneath his skin because he’s made Mihashi terrified _again_ , of course-

“Because.” Abe’s gaze spins back to the other, who has his eyes almost-not-quite at his face. But Mihashi's voice has an air of confidence to it that Abe’s never heard before. “Because I… I don’t mind the kissing. A-and I never did. Because, because kissing Abe-kun made me feel _happy_ , and safe, and I didn’t… No, no, I really liked the kissing and the touching because it made me feel like I was actually doing something for Abe-kun for once-”

“Not for once,” he interjects. “You do so much more, don’t be fucking stupid.” Rubs at his eyes and finds tears there, which is stupid because he shouldn’t be crying, not now. Not when he’s so, god, so _relieved._

There's a sharp intake of breath and a moment of pause, and then Mihashi’s lips are covering his tenderly, slowly pressing them together while one hand traces the back of Abe's neck. Even with the added affect of Mihashi tasting like ramen, it feels more real than any of the other kisses they'd shared together. It's slow and intimate and bursting with warmth. Though the hand Abe still has in his grasp is ice-cold, it regains warmth when he starts to rub slow, lazy circles into the smooth skin, and those fingers climb up and up, to Mihashi's arm, back, neck. 

“You’re absolutely sure?” Abe puffs once they split apart, gasping for breath. Somehow he’s ended on top of the other, not exactly pinning the pitcher to the ground but close enough. Both of their faces are flushed red and their breaths are equally fast-paced, and it’s a bit weird to Abe, making out in his own room for the first time but it’s all worth it when Mihashi flushes slightly and wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him down for another kiss. This time, Abe’s there to meet him.


End file.
